In the End It Always Does, Amber Bain’s second album as the Japanese House, strikes an equilibrium, merging introspective writing, and emotionally nuanced threads, with textured production. A grand departure from her debut album, Good at Falling, which embraced hazy tones, uplifting enough to prevent the lyrics from sounding too melancholic. This time around, Bain does not stray far away from her signature pessimistic lyricism, heavily revelling in the raw cut of a heartbreak. In the End sees the continuation of the long-standing musical collaboration between Bain and the 1975 drummer and producer, George Daniel, whose influences are undeniable throughout the record, elevating the record from acoustics and string to fizzy pop songs.
At first glance, Bain bends heartbreak into new shapes. One moment she’s straddling the reins of love, another moment she’s catatonically depressed, creating an interesting dichotomy between verse and sound. Bain’s writing process is encapsulated by extravagant yet simple pop-rock songs, which “Touching Yourself” becomes testament of. In simple terms, a song about sexting, which inadvertently, became a vessel to convey not feeling emotionally seen in a relationship, despite close proximity to each other. Still in the realm of relationships, Bain dives headfirst into identity, as exemplified on the record’s leading single “Boyhood”, where vulnerable unknowingness is laced with bright melodies. “I could have been somebody new/And I’m talking to myself/But I don’t know who I’m talking to”, Bain delivers in the verse, amidst acoustic guitars and thumping cut-and-chop drums, reflecting on how she is the summation of past experiences, and how that in-turn interacts with her current relationships.
In the End is sharpest when Bain’s writing meets Daniel’s vibrant instrumentation at opposite ends, creating a record full of danceable rock-pop anthems which are simultaneously devastating. Most notably, “Sad to Breathe”, which starts off as a slow acoustic, outpouring of heartbreak, which then, sonically transforms into an upbeat pop song. The musical progression, not only on singular tracks, but on the record as a whole is similar to that of a cake; it’s layered, rich and textual with subtle hints of flavours which you can’t place your finger upon. In other words, more in line with Bain’s lyricism: a bunch of pop songs who are drowning.
In the record’s most affecting track, the production is stripped back, as seen in “One for sorrow, two for Joni Jones” favouring a piano with strings, opting to showcase Bain’s lyricism instead. Whilst the album’s preceding tracks straggled the lines between dysfunctionality and dissolution, Bain instead leaves the listeners with absolute certainty that her relationship is at rope’s end, which gives “One for sorrow” a universal quality. “Sometimes I think without you life would lose its bones”, Bain delivers between chords, detailing the fear of leaving a relationship so all consuming, that a world without that significance would lose all meaning.
In the early days, the Japanese House were coined a Matty Healy side-project, and with In the End it Always Does, Bain certainly does not stray far away from the birds nest sonically. With tracks such as “Spot Dog”, which could easily pass off as an experimental female-voiced introduction to the sister record of A Brief Inquiry into Online Relationships. The Japanese House is at their very best when venturing outside their comfort zone, when embracing their inner risk-takers, daring to evolve from what put them on the map. It’s fair to say that, as long as the Japanese House continues to do so, as seen with In the End it Always Does, their boundaries know no limitations.
Words by Sofia Hansen
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